Sonnets during Hurricane Season
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He hadn't had a shower since, what? The CDC?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the group's time at the Greene Farm in season two. Set some point after Sophia's death, but before Shane's death and their subsequent escape when the farm is overrun with walkers. I found this collecting dust in my unfinished/unpublished folder (like two years old amount of dust) and decided it deserved a night on the town.

**Warnings**: Contains some season two spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past: domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language, masturbation, mature language and mature content. This is basically smut and it is all tumblr's fault really. *Apparently some readers think the mention of Beth as possibly overhearing Daryl masturbating in a completely non-romantic capacity is something to take note of. So, yeah, there you go.

**Sonnets during Hurricane Season**

He waited until the others had fallen asleep before making his way up to the house. He kept to the sidelines, skirting around Shane who was on watch and haunting the shadows until he'd come full circle. From there on he was content to wait, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment as he looked towards the small ring of tents set up in the old man's front yard.

He spat, scuffing the bone-dry soil with the toe of his boot as he did a quick mental count. Judging by the number of lanterns glowing through the vinyl, he figured he wasn't the only one burnin' the midnight oil. He spared a moment to wonder what the hell they were doing, what they were talkin' about before he buried it.

_After all, what did he care?_

It was only when the wind suddenly shifted, howling through the eaves and kicking up a cloud of dust and grit that he skimmed up alongside the house. Using the man's distraction, he ghosted past the unsuspecting jackhole for the sheer hell of it. Amusement reigned, resting high in his breast like a rough-shod laugh as Shane whirled atop the RV, peering suspiciously into the gloom a second too late as he vaulted over the railing and onto the back deck.

The man was pretty observant for a cop, he'd give 'im that.

He took the stairs two at a time, injured side twinging as he leaned over the railing, swiping a peach muffin from the plate beside the banister. He ignored the dusting of crumbs and ate it in three bites, taking the last few stairs at a crawl as he shoved the wrapper into his pocket.

He peered around the corner and listened closely before he started down the hall. He skipped the creaky floorboard outside the old man's door by hugging the opposite wall as he passed the blonde girl's room – Beth - with the ease of a few solid days of practice.

After all, he hadn't spent all that time healing from his wounds sleepin'. He knew better than that. It never paid to be sloppy, didn't matter what you were doing or where you were. These days, you needed to know the little shit. You _needed_ to know which floorboard creaked or what door had that awful rusty hinge. Because ever since the world had gone tit-up,_ knowing_ was the difference between living to die another day and makin' like the quick 'in dead faster than you could get off the shitter.

_It was either that or he thought too much. _

Merle had always said his brain got him in more trouble than his mouth ever did. And when he looked back on it, he couldn't say the douche was _completely_ wrong. Whether it was thinkin' too much or not enough, his upstairs brain was generally the culprit. Then again, Merle had always been prone to thinking with his prick, so he doubted the bastard's opinion mattered all that much anyway.

Anyway, after the last creaky floorboard – the one on the left hand side near the window - it was smooth sailing as far as he was concerned. He peered out the window as he passed, double checking that Shane was still on watch and the circle of tents seemed undisturbed before he carried on.

The corner of his lip curled as he caught the sound of one of the girls tossing and turning in the next room, all squeaking springs and disgruntled sighs as he crossed over to the bathroom and shut the door with a muffled click. _Home free._

He peeled off his dirty clothes with little ceremony, grinding off-center smudges into the pristine white tile in a way he was sure he'd be hearing about in the morning. Toeing off his socks and kicking them into the corner, he rooted around for a fresh towel, mindful of the clutter - mostly the girls' shit - toiletries and junk, already spread across the counter.

He sat down on the spindly looking bench beside the sink, letting his clothes hit the floor where they fell. He was down to just his jeans when he wriggled his toes against the titles, soaking in the chill as the crooked digits rasped across the grout. He'd broken his left pinky again, probably going over that damned cliff. He hadn't bothered to tell the old man, wasn't much you could do for somethin' like that after all. He'd just gritted his teeth and popped the thing back into place like he'd done for the others god knows how many times before.

The toe in question was swollen and red, tinged a vibrant dark purple with undertones of black and green around the base. But he forced it to curl anyway – gritting his teeth at the sting as he tested the range of movement. _It'd heal._

He had to admit, when he stepped under the spray that rational thought _fled_, swallowed by the heat and steam as he wilted into it. He let go of a deep rattling sigh as the hot water stung – pelting across his skin in a barrage of _hot-hot-hot-oh-oh-perfect_ until his body got used to the temperature and his muscles slowly started to relax.

_Christ, that felt good._

_He hadn't had a shower since, what? The CDC?_

Even then, the CDC couldn't hold a candle to this. This was fucking bliss. This was a full tank of hot water without the smell of ammonia and dust cloggin' up the duct work. This was a big, ol' fashioned claw-foot tub and a shower head with enough water pressure that it could have hosed _Satan _clean. In the CDC he'd been too busy with his bottle of Southern Comfort and waiting for the other shoe to drop to really enjoy it – not to mention having to share the hot water with a shit ton of other shower-greedy bastards. Luke warm had been pushin' it.

He bowed his head under the spray, bracing his arms on either side of the nozzle as he stretched, working the kinks from his back and ignoring the twinge from his injured side as the hot water worked its magic. _Fuck his stitches, this was worth it._

He was working a bar of soap up into a lather when his dick knocked across his thigh. He cracked an eye through the spray, not exactly surprised that he was sportin' a stiffie. He was content to move on however, soaping his arms and chest, dipping down to clean where the sun don't shine before he was forced to admit that he might be liking the hot water a bit too much.

His hands curled hesitantly around his length.

_Should he?_

He bit his lip, hesitating, palm curling around the head instinctively. He usually wasn't one to indulge, at least not on his own terms, but hell if he was going to let an opportunity like this slide. He'd have to be fuckin'_ touched_ to miss a chance like this – alone _(fucking finally)_ with hot water and no one waiting in the wings for a turn.

Christ, it'd been a long time, after all. Even if it was quick, it'd be worth it. It wasn't like he got much private time with everyone and their maiden aunt pestering him for favors these days, demanding shit.

But still, they'd hear. It was a pretty unmistakable sound, flesh on flesh.

And it had been so long he doubted he could keep quiet. He kept one hand on his prick, stroking lazily as he weighed the pros and cons, letting the water rinse a few weeks' worth of dirt and sweat as he arched his back into the spray.

He could just imagine on of the girls - Beth, Maggie, hell, any one of them, sloe-eyed with sleep, stumbling out of their room, only to hear him, clear as day through the bathroom door. His voice would probably be cracking, the sound of skin slicking against skin echoing across the tiles as he brought himself to his peak and exploded over it. Skimming the tiles with his own fluids until the thick, ropy spunk was eventually washed away by the spray.

_Jesus._ He could just imagine their old man coming at him with a pitch fork the next morning.

His dick twitched in sympathy as he shuddered at the mental image. And honestly, that was enough to do it. He didn't care how old that man was. If he'd learned anything from Merle, it was that the fathers of teenage girls were a fuckin' force to be reckoned with.

Still he didn't know whether to be pissed or relieved about the entire thing when his dick gave a few more tentative throbs before wilting in his hand. Understandably uninterested in getting carved into a dozen different pieces by a preacher-man with a two-six of righteous rage and a stick up his ass the size of the god damned _Titanic_.

He let his head rest on the slick ceramic, welcoming the chill as calloused pads curled around the dips of his spine, trailing down to linger on the curve of his ass before he took the bar of soap to his dirt-streaked skin and scrubbed for all he was worth. Madder than a wet hornet when he realized he'd essentially just cock-blocked himself.

_Damnit._

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be two more chapters after this! So expect a three part fic. Stay tuned. *****My apologies to the purists, but you can't honestly expect me to believe that the entire time Daryl was at the Green farm, he never snuck upstairs and indulged himself in a rare, hot shower. I mean, _hello_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the group's time at the Green Farm in season two. Set some point after Sophia's death, but before Shane's death and their subsequent escape when the farm becomes overrun with walkers. I found this collecting dust in my unfinished/unpublished folder (like two years old amount of dust) and decided it deserved a night on the town.

**Warnings:** Contains some season two spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past: domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language, masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mature language and mature content. This is basically smut and it is all tumblr's fault really.

**Sonnets during Hurricane Season**

_**Chapter Two**_

He was coming out of the shower, easing the door open and zipping up his fly when someone emerged from the room on the other side of the hall. It took a second for the figure to take shape in the lingering steam, but when it did – when he realized who it was, he couldn't help but still.

_Carol. _

There was moisture beading down his temple, sweating through his dirty clothes as steam billowed out from the room behind him. His hand was curled around the door-jamb, fingers pruny and wrinkled, clenching around the white wash as she stared right back.

_Where the hell had she come from?!_

But the indignance, if it had ever been there in the first place, faded as he took her in. He watched her watch _him _as her eyes lingered on his slicked backed hair. Pausing for a fraction on the two buttons he'd left open underneath his vest, on the clean skin that was sticking to his dirty clothes before dipping downwards.

He cocked his head. For a woman who'd just suffered a loss, and a hell of a big one at that, she looked remarkably interested.

_She'd been waiting._ For some reason, he knew that right away. Because she was leaning up against the wall like she _owned_ it, one hip hitched, showcased in a pair of green khakis and a cream colored blouse that did something stupidly attractive to her skin. It highlighted the fading sunburn that lurked around the jut of her collarbone and the freckles that seemed to span just about every _fucking _where.

She cocked her head right back, as if waiting for him to say something.

His tongue curled in his mouth – voiceless. Because she wasn't waiting for him to jerk a thumb and tell her the bathroom was free. Or for him to apologize for staying in just a titch too long, slicking the walls and fogging the mirrors until you were breathin' more water than air.

_No. She was waiting for something else entirely._

He nearly bit off the tip of his tongue when she moved, kicking off from the frame and closing the distance between them with a confidence he immediately envied. He let himself be backed into the bathroom, keeping his mouth shut when she raised a finger to her lips and locked the door behind her.

He fell back on the toilet seat, forced to look up as she leaned in, gently intruding on his space, as if expecting him to tell her to stop at any moment. But he didn't. Instead, he met her head on, chewin' on the inside of his cheek as she stared back, one hand resting on her hip as her scent rose in the close space. And in spite of himself, his prick throbbed. Pressing up, hard and painful against his zipper as he squirmed, wincing as the plastic lid warped and popped under the strain.

He raised a brow.

_Momma's got game._

_Those were some god damned sphinx eyes if he'd ever seen 'em._

And as if to prove him right, she sunk down on her haunches, level with him now as she reached up and trailed a hand down the bare skin at his nape. They lingering there for at a long moment, all cool tips and sharp rounded points, skimming across the worn, sweat-crusted material until the flat of her palm was resting on his thigh.

His pulse thrummed. Everything suddenly seemed surreal, slow - like molasses circling the rim of a jar – sullen but sweet.

He wasn't stupid. He knew where this was goin'. And while he had no idea why, he couldn't deny that he wanted it. _Want her_. She'd grown on him since the quarry. She probably even understood him, too. Kindred spirits, 'in shit.

He blinked when she started tugging on his vest, encouraging him to shrug out of it as she dropped the worn leather to the side, dotting the floor with shucked clothes and mingled footprints as he sucked in a breath.

_He felt fucking winded_.

He let her do the same with his button up, leaving him in nothing but a filthy black tank before she decided to level the playing field. There was nothing rushed about it as she slowly unclasped the first button, parting the gauzy fabric as the curve of a breast, high and snug in a simple white bra, came into view.

_Beautiful._

Every button she undid seemed like an out, like even now she was telling him without words that he could up and run and she'd let him off the hook. That she understood. And that either way, she wouldn't hold it against him. An emotion rose, high and cloying in the back of his throat as the blouse slipped from her shoulders, gliding down her hips to pool across the tiles. One sleeve was flung out – ghosting across the side of his vest as he looked down at his feet.

_He couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared enough about him to remind him that he had a choice in anything. Not even Merle. _

There was a small smile on her face – encouraging and heated as she tipped his chin up. And without really even thinking about it, he braced himself against the lid and lifted up. He missed her lips by a millimetre, gifting her cheek with a barely there flutter of chapped lips and, mortifyingly enough, a hint of tongue.

Still, it was the first kiss he knew he actually _wouldn't _regret come morning, so he figured that had to count for something.

Her laugh was soft, breathless and pleased. And when she brought their lips together, properly this time, he was only vaguely aware of his undershirt going the way of his vest and button up. He got lost in the feeling of plush lips sliding against his, of teeth that bit ever so gently, sucking and coaxing until his mind and body remembered how this whole kissing thing actually worked. Because before he knew it, he had a lapful of too hot skin and lean limbs that had no business smelling as sweet and wholesome as they did.

And really, he couldn't help but feel like firecrackers on the Fourth of fuckin' July.

It wasn't until she wriggled free, dancing around in the tiny space in order to squirm out of her pants that he fully realized he was naked from the waist up. He was naked. But he didn't feel like it.

_Huh. That was new._

He was used to making excuses, excuses for the scars, the bruises, for keepin' his shirt on whenever he could manage it. But with her, he didn't have to, he'd seen her bruises. When Ed had still been alive he'd seen them on the inside of her arm, seen the tender way she'd carried herself. They were on equal ground –_ matched_.

He had to remind himself to breathe when her bra hit the floor.

He went willingly when she tugged him up by the belt loops. Her hands tangled in his belt, tossing it to the floor behind him with a loud jangle of metal on metal. He didn't know what to do with his hands, uncertain of what she wanted as the calloused bumps of his palm flirted with the curve of her hip, index finger sneaking along the seam of her undone khakis before jerking away, guilty.

He couldn't help but ask when she got the last button undone and let his jeans, slack and crusted with dirt, pool around his ankles. He had to know. He had to be sure.

"You sure you want this?" he rasped. "Not that I'm complainin', but you sure this is what you want?" gently as he could manage, voice rough edged with arousal.

His muscles quivered, holding himself back as greed and want rose, pricking across his skin in waves of heat as he thought about how she'd feel against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest. He wanted to feel her, taste her. He wanted to use every pathetic scrap of knowledge he possessed to make her feel him. _Only him._

But she just smiled, sure but feisty, like she'd had enough of gentleness, enough of sweetness and grief and just wanted him. _And deep down, that was the rub of it, wasn't it?_ _She'd chosen him. Not Rick, not Shane, not any of the others, him._

It was only when he answered it, the shadow of a smile tugging across the bow of his lips that he suddenly realized what this was. _This_ was the climax of all those little moments, the slow progression of events that had started that moment at the quarry camp. When he'd handed her that ax and watched her take something of herself back from the monster she'd called her husband.

_This _was where they'd been leading up to this whole god damned time. The quarry, the CDC, the highway, hell, even Sophia? Nothin' more than bread crumbs spiraling out, leading all the way back to the bigger picture.

It had been inevitable, he realized. Eyes going heated as his thumbs slipped under the band of her thin cotton panties. The material was already damp, sticking to her skin in a sodden blot of sweet smelling musk – filling the air with her scent as saliva slicked across the flat of his tongue.

And sure, _hell yeah_ it was wrong - _flawed._ It was too fast, too soon and for _god sakes_ the woman was still _grieving_. But at the same time, it was also wholesome and good. It was about forgetting,_ living_, healing and a thousand other things he was too distracted to name.

It was solace wrapped up in a temper tantrum, wrapped up in an enigma and _Christ - _he'd never wanted_ anything_ so bad in his entire god damned life.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter after this! Stay tuned. Should be up on Saturday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the group's time at the Green Farm in season two. Set some point after Sophia's death, but before Shane's death and their subsequent escape when the farm becomes overrun with walkers. I found this collecting dust in my unfinished/unpublished folder (like two years old amount of dust) and decided it deserved a night on the town.

**Warnings:** Contains some season two spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past: domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language, masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mature language and mature content. This is basically smut and it is all tumblr's fault really.

**Sonnets during Hurricane Season**

_**Chapter Three**_

There was no talking. No questions. No him trying to talk her out of it or her askin' why he wasn't. It was just him, her and the steam misting through air above their heads.

He wondered idly if the others knew. Had Shane seen her leave camp? Had he noticed the empty tents? More to the point, did he even care if the self-righteous prick put two and two together? Either way, his brain was still playing catch up. He felt like an old truck trundling up an incline but refusing to change gears.

He sucked in a breath, still more water than air when she stepped forward, palm up and cautious for a handful of beats before she started tracing the curve of his face. She was humming – more a vibration than anything as her fingers lingered - smoothing the hair already fluffing around his temples as all the protests he could've sworn had been there a minute ago suddenly vanished.

Because without preamble, her hand was tugging at his shorts, encouraging him to lift up as she worked them down his hips. He leaned back on the seat, fighting down a groan as she settled atop him, bare skin to bare skin. He struggled to return the favor, yanking weakly at the elastic of her panties until she put him out of his misery.

And call him easy, but he was already breathing hard, dick weeping at the tip, over-eager and jonesing for it as he smeared pre-cum across the span of her inner-thigh. He bit his lip, thumbing a smattering of freckles that stood out just above the pale, fighting the urge to answer as her hips hitched up and rocked – a teaser for the main event.

There were no words, they didn't need them. The entirety of everything that had happened, everything that had brought them to this point stretched out between them. A vast landscape of choices made, a series of events that'd led them to what was happening right here, right now.

There were stress lines under her eyes, a redness that told of sleepless nights and more than a little bit of crying. But there was also determination, goodness, warmth and _Christ_ he wanted_ her_.

The admission momentarily brought him up short.

He didn't usually get what he wanted. Hell, he could probably count on one hand the number of times life_ hadn't_ short-sheeted him out of something or other. _Maybe the end of the world wasn't so bad after all?_

He held back a sneer just in time. Just figures that it would take some heavy ass shit like the entire god damned _world _ending for him to actually come up even.

Because really, if that wasn't a metaphor for his life, he didn't know _what _was.

He marveled on this for a few seconds, eventually getting distracted by the way she was scooting across his lap, high-tipped nipples brushing across his chest in a way that made him tense on reflex.

He nearly fell right off the toilet seat when she bit down on his earlobe, dick throbbing, snug in the crease between their thighs as she dug her nails into his shoulders. It took him a moment to realize she was shushing him, taking his shuddering and flinching for something else as her hands explored the length of him.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest, but not for the reasons she might have thought. No. He was too far gone for that. His hands tightened around the curve of her hip, keeping her close as his erection throbbed. It was more the fact that after a good year or so of tending to himself – so to speak – at this point he was probably well within his rights to have a god damned _heart_ _attack_.

She arched up, pretty and deliciously high pitched in his lap when he snuck a hand between them. His pulse roared in his ears when his fingers came back wet, nearly drippin'. She was ready for him – _more_ than ready by the feel of it. He gritted his teeth.

_Christ, there was no way in hell he was going to last!_

The kiss that followed was equal parts soft and fierce. It was affirming and gentle and a thousand other things he probably had no business putting a name to. All he knew was that she tasted like peaches and salt, suddenly jealous of the need to breathe whenever lack of air forced them apart.

"…Daryl."

He forced himself to pull away, lips swollen and hot as she mewled out a negative. But, considering he let his hand dart down again, tracing her slit with his thumb, he figured he'd be forgiven. His chest strained as he fought to catch his breath, using his distraction to collect himself as he tried and failed to reign himself in.

_He was in so deep he didn't even want a fucking paddle._

The push and pull of her chest reminded him of a bird fluttering in a broken cage. So close to freedom, but not quite sure what that meant as it flittered back and forth in confusion. He parted her folds with the crook of his thumb, muffling a groan into her shoulder as he slipped in easily, rubbing her wetness between his fingers before he swirled the digit inside her.

The noises she was making were fucking with his head.

Because you couldn't fake that kind of pleasure.

She wanted him.

_Jesus Christ, this was his life?!_

He took a moment to look – to stare, _ogle_, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He figured it would be something he could take with him for the road, for the lonely nights where there was nothin' but him and his right hand for company. For when she was gone, for when she finally came to her senses and moved on to someone better, or-

She was thinner than he liked, naturally slender but noticeably underfed. Most of it was a product of being on the road, but you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to wonder how much she'd actually been eating with that shit-stain of a husband sulking around.

Still, he cupped the inside of her thigh, more lean muscle than soft flesh, encouraging her to spread them wide as the pale pink of her center was revealed. His mouth watered. _Fucking perfect. _He looked up, catching her expression when his fingers found her nub and peppered it with slow, rolling circles.

The low light and hanging mist seemed to highlight the arcs of her cheekbones, cutting out a profile that could have made an angel fuckin' weep.

"…_Daryl- Daryl, please."_

He would have probably continued that way if Carol hadn't decided to get even. Because a second later her nails were digging in and she was breathing out his name, all throaty and shit as she clenched around his finger. He was done. _Fucking done._

There was no finesse to it, no grand overture, nothing to mark the moment as he took it to home base and gave her what she'd come for. He just yanked her up, fingers slipping free with an obscene sounding squelch, positioned himself at her center and _dropped _her down on top of him.

"_Sweet je-"_

She was so sweet, so slick, so fuckin'_ right_ that sparks went off behind his lids the moment he slid home. They paused when he bottomed out, heeding her instinctively when her fingers tightened on his shoulders, holding him in place as they stilled.

Their breaths mingled as they took a moment and just breathed.

The urge to thrust up into that impossibly tight, wet heat, was almost unbearable. He gritted his teeth, bucking up only once before a sound, pitched with warning, filtered through the steam.

Even now, feeling her twitching and tightening around him, the need to start up a rhythm - something - _anything _to sooth the pressure building around his cock, was akin to an _act of god_ to ignore.

_She was so fucking good. _

_And it had been way too long. _

But for now, he would wait. The body had a way of talking without words, tellin' you everything you wanted to know if you took the time to listen. And right now hers was tellin' him to stop, to keep it at parade rest.

_He could do that. _

_For now._

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Okay, I lied. There will be ONE more chapter. The last one got super long and I felt it was better to break it up than put you all through that


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the group's time at the Green Farm in season two. Set some point after Sophia's death, but before Shane's death and their subsequent escape when the farm becomes overrun with walkers. I found this collecting dust in my unfinished/unpublished folder (like two years old amount of dust) and decided it deserved a night on the town.

**Warnings:** Contains some season two spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past: domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language, masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mature language and mature content. This is basically smut and it is all tumblr's fault really.

**Sonnets during Hurricane Season**

_**Chapter Four**_

He rubbed a hand down the small of her back, counting the bumps and vertebrae as he allowed himself to think of the last time he'd gotten laid. He squinted into the steam, licking his lips as a bead of sweat rolled down from his temple.

It'd been in a bar, southwest of somewhere, one of those seedy, back country dives that had a few rooms for rent on the side. He'd been out in the sticks with Merle, hittin' up what counted as the late night entertainment in the shithole town they'd found for the night.

He remembered the body. Not the face or the name. He remembered the bottle blonde hair and the tattoo of a white rabbit – faded and in desperate need of some color – just below her left ankle. Other than that, the dame was a blur. All he remembered was that she'd called him by another name when she came. Dave or Dane something or other and that he hadn't even had a name to fake.

Retrospectively, he didn't know which one was sadder.

So perhaps that was why he forced her head up, equal parts rough and gentle as the money-shots of more than a few featureless chicks flickered behind his closed lids. Heat flushed across his face. Embarrassment and self-loathing were quick to rise, at odds with the pleasure and growing sense of urgency building just below his navel.

He didn't want that now.

Not with her. _Never with her._

He wanted to remember.

"Look at me," he grated. It came out sounding more like a plead, but he didn't regret it. Not when her blue eyes - ridiculously open and trusting - fastened on his face. Not when he could see her _seeing_ him.

_Hell, there was nothin' like it._

He wanted to tell her as much, but the words got lost, swallowed and forgotten when she ducked her head, fingers rasping through his stubble as she brought their lips together for a heated kiss. It was sloppy, more teeth and tongue than anything, but sweet nonetheless. Just dirty enough to fit the mood when her hips rolled experimentally.

_Spreadin' her wings._

His smile was all sorts of smug when she moaned, head dropping back as he ground himself against her. Showing her how much he _wanted_ as his feet tangled with her blouse. The thin fabric ghosted across his crooked toes before he planted his feet and _moved_.

But it wasn't until she nodded, shaky but growingly sure, that he let himself go.

He let out a grunt as she tightened around him; slicking him in a vice-grip that already had him desperate for a distraction – anything to prolong the inevitable as he encouraged her to move with him. The resulting burst of friction pulled a moan from the both of them.

_Christ, she was tight._

He let her feel him out, doing his best to reign himself in and let her have time to explore – to set the pace and rhythm as she rolled her lips, nearly killing him with the sounds of each thrust, each exploratory swivel of her hips. It felt like a first time. Like together they were trying to correct all the mistakes they'd made in the past and create new memories – _better memories _- in their stead.

He nearly lost it when she started talkin', murmuring wordless noises of encouragement into his skin that nearly took him apart. Asking, taking and giving back all at once. He didn't know what to do with it. Or how they could go back to the way things were when everything was said and done.

_How did someone even deal with something like this? _

_He'd never felt like this before, he'd never-_

It was like open heart surgery without painkillers. It was begging the man with the scalpel not to stop, to _never_ stop, even though you knew it was going to end in blood and tears - in a wound that no doctor on this earth had the skill to mend. And he'd be damned if he'd trade a single fucking _moment_ of it.

She keened, a high warbling sound when he switched the angle. He couldn't help the groan, loud, _too loud_, when she stiffened, pert nipples rasping across his chest. The feeling was not unlike taking a zap of static right to the nervous system.

_Shit._

He ripped another moan from her as he cupped her breast, pinching the tips until she quaked, nails raking across his scalp when he did it again. The resulting sound echoed through the steam, loud enough that anyone walking by would be sure to hear. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't give a crap about what the others thought.

In fact, he _wanted_ them to hear.

_Fuck 'em. He'd earned this._

There was hardly any space between then, too cramped with how she was riding him. They were folded together on the seat - two ill-fitting puzzle pieces that had somehow managed to do the impossible. But he could still see her, _hear_ her. He got lost in the sound of the slick glide and the soft grunt that sounded every time she let herself sink down just a bit too deep. She was so wet he could actually _hear_ it, the liquidy gush of her excitement as it coated his cock was leaking between them, mixing with sweat and steam until he was in danger of sliding right off the god damned toilet.

_Christ, she was going to be the death of him._

"Harder," she whispered, voice low and syrupy. She was panting now, back arcing when he ducked down and nipped the side of her breast. "I want to feel it," she hummed, heavy and breathless in his ear.

He hissed, lips pulling back in a snarl as he buried his face into the curve of her neck and gave it to her. He ignored the burn in his muscles, the dull thrum from his wounded side and all the little hurts and bruises in between. Because suddenly he felt _greedy_. He wanted it all. Every fuckin' inch she was willing to give him and even then, he was willing to press his luck.

He wanted to roll his hips and watch her _disintegrate_.

He growled and shunted his hips up the same moment she dropped down, hiccuping out a breath as her chest heaved, breasts warm and close to smacking him in the face as he let his head rest between them. He sucked a bruise into curve of her throat, tasting the bitter-tang of sweat and her own personal brand of sweetness as she lifted herself away from him. He took her weight as she leaned forward – sending knick-knacks and toiletries tumbling – balancing herself against the mirror, using the counter as an anchor as their rhythm devolved.

His balls drew up, tight and throbbing, pinned between his ass and the toilet seat as she rode him fiercely, refusing to give even so much as a pause as the plastic hinges creaked dangerously. _Christ, he wasn't going to last. He needed to-_

His hands went to her hips, massaging sleek muscles and digging the tips into her skin as she dropped down again, resting briefly and grinding against the base of him. Following the urging of his hands, she lifted, seeming to pause with only the very tip of him resting between her folds before dropping down again, moving faster with each arc of her hips until she was breathing hard and whimpering - stuttering every other breath.

The sound caused an old, long unused part of him to shudder awake, shaking off the dust of more years than he was comfortable putting a number to as he allowed himself to dwell on the fact that it was _him_ making her feel this way. _Him_ that was giving her this, making her arch up and _mewl _for it.

_Him._

And for reasons beyond him, he felt hyper aware – not just of himself and the feelings raging just underneath the skin - but of her as well. He knew she could feel it, the delicious hot clenching just below her navel, so close he could practically taste it. And whatever awareness he had, they seemed to share it, because she went willingly when he yanked her down. He angled her hips so that every thrust ground against her clit – rough but with purpose as he held onto what was left of his dignity by the skin of his fuckin' teeth.

He growled, snarling out something that could have been a laugh as her nails scrabbled against his back, fighting for purchase as he broke their rhythm in favor of thrusting deep. Uncertain if it was her squeal or the creaking toilet hinges that amused him more.

He listened to her choke on a rather undignified noise, something that could have been the difference between a mewl and a howl when his finger mashed between them and found her nub. He rubbed it in quick, off-center circles, gritting his teeth as her nails dug deep, until she was muffling her cries on the back of her hand and flooding his fingers with slick.

_Oh-_

The realization that he'd just made her peak hit him like nothing else. He snapped off a desperate, pitching whine as he ground her hips down, rhythm punishing as he hurtled towards his own pleasure with the single-mindedness of a man who was too fucking far gone to care.

He kept his thumb on her clit, dropping his head back against the counter as she moaned and contracted around him – overstimulated, but not quite ready to bat him away. He bit his lip, cussing under his breath as her walls rippled, chasing the last of her orgasm as she shuddered and twitched around him.

_Jesus fucking fu-_

He had just enough time to yank her up, injured side screaming as he slipped out of her and came all over the soft span of her belly. His head clunked against her collarbone, falling into the valley between them as he striped the last of his spunk against her skin, ignoring the contented sound that rose up as a splash streaked across the underside of her breast.

_Holy hell._

_He'd never come so hard in his entire damn life._

He came back to himself slowly, blowing out a breath that felt thick in the warm air as he let the moment linger, unwilling to end this any sooner than he had to as they gradually came down together.

Carol wilted across him. He had to admit it made a pretty sight. What with her hips hitched up against the dip of his stomach, cradling his softening cock between them as small hands kneaded idly across the span of his shoulders. She teased the tips across the bruises soothing them in a way that made him wonder when they'd gotten so sore.

And while he wasn't exactly sure why, he found himself caught between palming her hip and counting the dips of her spine. Content, for the moment, to milk the pause for all it was worth.

"I suppose we should probably go…there are only two bathrooms," she pointed out eventually, voice an exhausted, but undeniably smug hum as she nosed the crease between his chest and left armpit.

And in a fit of selfishness and desire he'd probably deny to his dying day he tightened his hands around her waist. It was nothing but a fraction, a subtle press of flesh against flesh that revealed for more than he'd anticipated as her ass, sweet and round in all the right places, dimpled under his hold.

_Hell, after all this was said and done the woman would be lucky if he'd ever let her feet touch the ground again! Jesus shit!_

In the end, he only arched a brow, snorting up at the white wash as he let his head thunk back against the tank, breathing in the humid air, legs splayed across the creaking lid. His muscles still felt remarkably loose as Carol burrowed deeper into the curve of his chest, sticking close as if in silent agreement.

"Let 'em wait," he rasped, head lolling comfortably. "They can use a god damned _tree_ for all I care. We _earned_ this."

There was a beat of silence, something that seized in his chest, making him think that he'd finally gone just a bit too far – taken one too many liberties – or worse – labeled _this_, whatever _this_ was, as something it wasn't.

_There had been a moment where it'd been so clear, where he'd thought – no – felt that she might want more than just this one time, more than-_

But in the end, that was all it was, a beat. Because a moment later the sound of her chuckle, low and rolling in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle in pleasure, was enough to prompt one of his own.

And as it so happened, by the time the creaky floorboard down the hall went off and a pointed _rap-rap-rap_ issued from the other side of bathroom door, he was already smirking into her skin, worrying the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when she leaned back and chirped-

"Occupied!"

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. This story is now complete! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! - I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. It was your insistence and enthusiasm that made it possible! You guys are awesome!


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